Fair Warning
by paperology
Summary: The apocalypse was averted & things have been surprisingly normal since then...but Sam still can't get used to what his brother's been up to with the angel. Dean/Cas


_I'm taking a break from my other fic to punch this one out, just because I really need a happy ending right now. Plus, Sam-grossed-out-by-Destiel fics are oh so funny._

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><p>Sam sat in front of the computer in his room, scrolling lazily through various local news sites in what nowadays, was a perfunctory search for unexplained phenomena. Ever since the apocalypse had been averted, the usual nasties seemed to have dwindled in number as a byproduct, leaving the brothers high and dry in terms of destined callings. They'd eventually accepted that things were going to stay pretty quiet from now on, and that this gift horse was one best patted on the rear and let to roam free. Dean had found fast work as a mechanic, while a run-in with an old Stanford classmate had landed Sam a job as a paralegal at a small firm in town. Home…was now a two-bedroom apartment they were leasing from an old couple off spending all their retirement money in Boca.<p>

Nothing unusual stood out from the couple of human-error house fires, and unless Einstein's ghost was possessing a thirteen year-old boy, Sam could only be happy for this year's Southwest Ohio science bowl winner. He leaned back in his chair and felt a rumble in his stomach, the hankering for a beer and barbecue chips taking sudden precedence in his mind.

Sam stood up and walked out of the room, shutting the door loudly. A shuffling sound in the kitchen made him prick up his ears, before his expression settled into an irked grimace.

"_Walking out of my room!_" he yelled out dramatically through the thin drywall of the domicile. He took a few steps forward, pacing his normally lengthy strides. "_Headed down the hallway, coming towards the kitchen now! La-la-la-rum-pum-freakin'-pum…_" Sam came to a stop in front of the kitchen entryway, classic bitch-face already in place at the scene before him.

Dean was leaning casually against the sink, all smugness and normalcy in his stance, his only tell being the slight swollenness of his lips. The angel to his left was visibly worse for wear. Castiel's dark hair was in disarray, the lapels of his trench coat sticking up similarly as if tugged back on in a hurry, the blush starting from his hairline and disappearing into the mostly-unbuttoned shirt (_where the hell is his tie?_), his normally steady hands fiddling nervously in front of him.

Cas appeared to realize that the wringing of hands was not particularly subtle, but the awkward swinging that followed only called attention to the fact that his belt hung unbuckled in his black trousers. Sam cringed and averted his eyes towards the scrap of blue hanging on the cabinets behind the angel. _Oh, there's where the tie went_.

His brother finally broke the silence. "Heya, Sammy." Dean flashed his widest shit-eating grin.

"Hello, Sam," Cas ventured. "Dean was just teaching me why they are called 'love handles'." If Sam hadn't felt so disturbed, the look Dean shot Cas then would have had him in stitches. It didn't stop him from filing it away though to use against his brother later as retaliation for all this. Sam crossed the kitchen and popped open the refrigerator door, eyes still narrowed at the guilty pair.

Dean picked up a mug off the counter and took a sip, innocent look plastered on his face. Sam realized with a deepening of his scowl that it was _his_ mug and thought about telling Dean to keep it, considering where those hands had probably just been, but he settled for just keeping his mouth shut and grabbing a bag of chips as he stalked back out of the kitchen.

Once back in his room, Sam gave it a thought before slamming the door shut loudly, though he'd never admit that it was a go-ahead to resume whatever the hell it was that was going on in the kitchen. Ever since Sam and Dean had run out of paranormal baddies to fight, Dean could no longer blame the sexual tension between the angel and himself on adrenaline and frustration. They'd tried to stick to routine for awhile and keep it to intense glaring, but it deteriorated into thinly-veiled eye-fucking and eventually just straight-up…y'know. Sam had wandered into the aftermath of too many a staring contest since then, and had learned how to spare himself the same retina-burning fate as Pamela, though he doubted what happened to the medium was from seeing Castiel's O-face.

Pushing that unpleasant memory aside, Sam cracked open the beer and pulled up a case from work. This was normal life now, and Sam honestly couldn't complain about how things had turned out. His jerk of a brother was being less of one nowadays with his feathery beau around, and Sam was finally returning to his life before all the shit went down. _Everything is as it should be_, Sam thought, as he shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.

A high-pitched yet gravelly whine suddenly broke through Sam's calm, causing chip bits to fly through the air as he choked.

_Okay, everything _will_ be as it should…once I get my hands on a good pair of sound-proofing headphones_.

**End**


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